


Fixing the Tilt

by monimala



Category: As the World Turns, White Collar
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Fix-It, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:11:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9165538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monimala/pseuds/monimala
Summary: I started this in 2011 and am finally finishing it — a story in which Reid's alive, Simon's back and all's well that ends well! Oh, and Neal Caffrey from WHITE COLLAR is in this, too. Because OF COURSE Simon would know him!





	1. Chapter 1

When Chris and Katie move in together and announce their engagement, Henry doesn’t say anything except “Congratulations.” Bubbles is nothing if not impulsive, and he knows they’re still dealing with Chris’ transplant and Katie’s residual loss-of-Brad issues.

When they plan on a Valentine’s Day wedding (and, really, HOW clichéd is that?), Barbara begs him not to meddle. He takes into account that she’s biased, being Chris’ cousin and all, and they have their first fight in the three months since their own blessed union. But, in the end, Barbara wins and he keeps his mouth shut…save for a few passive-aggressive comments he and Reid trade at the Lakeview’s Thanksgiving buffet.

It’s Jacob who pushes Henry over the edge. A year and a day after Brad’s death. His chubby little hands are full of cake, and he reaches them towards Chris, who is holding the camera and recording Jacob’s first birthday for posterity. And Jake says, “Dada!” It’s his second or third word, thankfully not his first. Katie bursts into tears, burying her face in Reid’s stiff shoulder, and Henry whisks the little man away to the bathroom for a wash-up and a man-to-man talk.

“Now, listen, you,” he says, running the tap at full-strength so no one, particularly Barbara, can overhear. “Calling Chris Hughes ‘Dada’ is over the line.” Jacob just blinks those wet, dark eyes, his lower lip trembling. “You have one ‘Dada,’ and that’s Brad Snyder. Barring that, you have your uncle Henry and your uncle Simon.” He’s not sure whether Jacob finds that comforting or not, but the lip trembling stops, and he just squirms in Henry’s arms, ready to get back to the party. “We’ll fix this,” Henry promises, kissing the top of his precious little head. “Don’t worry, kiddo, we’ll fix this.”

That night, he makes the call he’s resisted making a dozen times over the past year. “Tell Simon she needs him,” he pleads to the startled voice on the other end of the line. “Tell him it’s time to come home.”

***

Neal passes on the message; his only editorial comment is the gentle swirling of a decent ‘95 Bordeaux in the bowl of his wine glass. Simon absorbs it with an equal lack of comment, staring out the window at the frostbitten city below. _It’s time to come home_. He gave Caffrey’s number to Henry ostensibly because he’d be off on the Continent on assignment. “For emergencies,” he’d said. But really it was cowardice, knowing that if he gave Henry his own contact information he’d go back to Oakdale at first ring. Henry, being quick, had likely picked up on that and never made contact at all. Until now. _Now_ , Katie needs him.

“She’s okay. You do know that,” Neal points out, after a while.

Yes, yes he does. He has a contact in Springfield check up on her occasionally. Cyrus waited almost two weeks to tell him when she moved into Tom and Margo’s old house with Chris. Christ, even people he barely knows seem to have a bead on his love life, don’t they? He hasn’t exactly been a monk — he’s taken lovers — and, while he was tracking a forger in Stockholm, he and Vienna spent one ridiculous night having the most mediocre sex two beautiful people could possibly engage in. They’d been coasting on memories of others, not even on the scant visions of their own brief affair. After the third try, they’d just given up, ordered a bottle of Dom from room service, and watched badly dubbed American cartoons. He hasn’t stopped living his life just because Katie’s not in it, just because she’s gone on to live hers with somebody else. That wasn’t the point of all this.

“Wasn’t it?” Neal chuckles, and Simon curses when he realizes he’s spoken aloud. “Come on, man, don’t fool yourself. You gave it all up for The Greater Good. You’re walking the path of the righteous —” He makes a noise of disbelief, so Neal course-corrects, “The semi-righteous. And you know it was for her. Because some day you would go back.”

He spins away from the window, hands fisting defensively. “Is that what you tell yourself, Caffrey?” he accuses, glancing down at the other man’s tracking anklet. “That you gave it all up for the Greater Good?”

“No.” Neal stretches his legs, the picture of casual elegance, not a care in the world. “Because our situations are completely different...and because I have everything I need right here in New York.” Simon flinches, more from the utterly guileless look in Neal’s eyes — like Simon’s his goddamn mark — than from the reminder of Peter, of Elizabeth. Of just what a sweet set-up Caffrey has. All the things that Simon’s denied himself, Neal owns. “Just go,” he urges, quietly. “Frasier, just go. If you don’t, all you’ll be doing is making yourself miserable.”

“Maybe that misery is what I deserve.” Even as he says it, he doesn’t quite believe it. Simon’s always been a bit more self-serving than that. Martyrdom is an ill-fitting suit, the sleeves too long for fashion.

And somewhere in Oakdale, Chris Hughes is being measured for a wedding tuxedo, so that he can marry Simon’s woman.

Hell. Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

He shocks Neal with a firm kiss on the mouth and an “I owe you one,” before he slams out of the flat and back into the world he never should have left.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no place like home.

Marrying Chris makes sense. That’s what she tells herself. They care about each other. Jacob adores him. It’s this pretty little parallel: Margo’s little sister and Tom’s little brother tying the knot, making the Hughes family even stronger. The terror of almost losing Chris was a wake-up call. Brad all over again. And if she has another chance to have her dream, to have a complete family, then she’s not going to waste it. This time, she’s going to hold on tight with both hands.

Margo finds her at Brad’s grave a week before the wedding. It’s not unexpected. She’s been spending a lot of time here, despite the fact that the ground is frozen and the flowers she brings seem to ice over the minute she puts them down in front of the headstone. “Oh, sweetheart.” Her sister sighs, clearly noticing how her knees are drawn up to her chin and her knuckles are white. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Katie laughs, because she’s actually lost count of how many times Margo has had to ask her that over the years. “I’m never sure. You know that.” What else can a woman who’s been married as many times as she has say?

Margo crouches next to her and rubs her shoulder, calling her “Kiddo” in a way that’s so like Kim it’s freaky. She’s been more like a mom to Katie all these years than their own mother ever was. Always trying to steer her in the right direction, offering weary head-shakes and dry one-liners as needed. “I know you miss Brad…but marrying Chris isn’t going to bring him back, or magically fix what you lost. You can’t just pick up with Chris where you left off with Brad.”

She shrugs away from the comforting hand, stung. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Using Chris as some sort of…substitute? Pasting him into my life where Brad should be?” She just gets That Look in response. The one that Margo probably gives perps in the OPD interrogation room as she waits for them to incriminate themselves. “I’m not!” she insists in a huff. “Chris and I work. We have fun together, and my son loves him. We can have a good life.” Katie stares at the letters that spell out Brad’s name, leans forward to trace the starkly carved year. 2009. She can’t believe it’s been more than a year already. “No one can replace Brad,” she says. “No one.”

Margo covers her fingers, stills them on the stone. “Then why did you almost run off with Simon two months after Brad died?” she wonders. “You were ready to go, sweetheart. To give everything up and go to New York with him.”

“That’s different. That’s Simon.” She doesn’t have to think about it. The words just come. Along with her first smile in days. Just mentioning his name brings up a combination of nostalgia and exasperation.

“I will always be ready to run off with Simon. Because that’s who we are together: crazy, impulsive, throwing everything to the wind. Simon makes me insane. Like I’m that silly little girl again, making love to him in Burt’s garage.” That was a decade ago, and it still feels like yesterday sometimes. Stale beer, stupidity, scrambling for a condom, hearing that husky voice in her ear as he told her to “relax” and that “it’ll be okay.” She shudders. “Thank God you and Henry talked me out of it, because I needed to stay here. I needed to grieve. And Jacob needed his family.” Simon would’ve stayed, too. If she’d just asked him to. But Katie knows better than to chain up a wild thing that needs to be free. “Simon and I exist outside of reality, outside of time. He’s a fairy tale. Back in the real world, marrying Chris is the right decision.”

Her sister offers up a “hmm” that speaks volumes. Margo and Craig both have the ability to fit a thousand things into one murmur. Katie’s never been that nuanced, that subtle. “What?” she demands. “What is that supposed to mean, ‘hmmm’?”

Margo kisses the top of her head and then gets up, brushing dirt from the folds of her coat. “Give it some time, Katie. I think you’ll figure it out.”

Katie stays with Brad for an hour after Margo drives away. Until the chill seeps into her bones, and she can bury the memories of Simon beneath the ice.

Chris is her future. There’s no point in dredging up the past.

***

Oakdale never changes. The kids get older. The buildings get a fresh wash of paint. But it’s still quaint, still perfect. Simon should be more cynical about being back, but cynicism doesn’t seem to exist on the wide stretch of road to Luther’s Corners or the turn off to Milltown. And it gets stomped out in Old Town, where Lisa turns the “Open” sign at Fashions to “Closed” and shuts off the lights.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Burke wondering when he’ll check in. Or Caffrey, telling him that Peter won’t be a problem. Simon doesn’t need to look. The only thing he needs to do is be here. He walks past the bookstore, where it doesn’t look like the books in the display window have been swapped out since his last visit. He passes Al’s, as brightly lit and sparsely populated as ever. His feet know the bricks and cobblestones as surely as his hands know the warm expanse of Katie’s body.

He wants to go straight to her. Show up at the Hughes’s doorstep and claim what’s his, what’s never belonged to Chris. “That would lack finesse, Frasier,” he can almost hear Neal sigh. “Women like to be charmed, remember? You’re going to have to earn her.” An ironic piece of advice from a man who charms everyone around him simply by breathing. But he’s shown up at Katie’s door unannounced enough times to know that the absolute worst moment to do it is when she’s with someone else.

Simon doesn’t want to be the wrecking ball this time. No. He wants to be the wall that shores her up.

“Frasier?” The voice from behind him stills him in his tracks and then spins him round. “Is that you?” Jack Snyder stands outside Java, a brown paper bag in one hand. “What the hell are you doing back in town?” The light from the café’s doorway glints off his hair, showing off a bit more gray than before. That likely means only one thing…Jack and Carly are back together again.

It might earn him a punch in response, but Simon can’t help but grin, holding out a hand. “Nice to see you, too, Jack.” Jack shakes because it’s an auto-response, but his eyes are hooded with suspicion. Simon smiles even wider. God, he’s missed this place. These people. “No worries, mate. I am on the up-and-up. Legal and binding. You will not be arresting me ever again.”

Jack transfers his bag to his other arm, eyebrows arching. “So, what, you’re telling me you’ve reformed?”

“God, no. Reformation’s such an ugly word.” He shudders theatrically, which makes the other man finally drop his big, brooding cop act and laugh. “I work for the FBI now. Consulting. Big Brother’s always got a watch on me.”

“Do you now? I can’t believe it.” Amusement laces Jack’s tone, and he shakes his head. “If they’ll hire me, I guess they’ll hire anybody.”

“How are you? How’s Carly and the kids?” It would’ve been a delicate question once, given his and Carly’s incredibly stupid little adventure, but Simon asks with nothing except genuine, neighborly interest…and Carly’s husband seems to get that, because his demeanor doesn’t change.

“Great. They’re great,” Jack beams with the confidence of a man who has everything he wants. “Better than ever. Parker enrolled at the police academy. Sage has grown a foot since last year, and I just picked up some of the strawberry cheesecake from Java, because Carly’s been jonesing for it all night.” Simon doesn’t mistake the meaning, and he’s pumping Jack’s hand and saying a truly heartfelt “congratulations” even as Jack finishes his sentence. “They always tell you the cravings stop before the third trimester, but trust my wife to always go against the grain.”

Katie’s like that, too. Always unpredictable. Like a force of nature. Simon’s throat actually tightens at the thought of her big with his child. He wonders how she looked while carrying Jacob, and remembers how lush she felt in his arms just a few months after the baby was born. “You’re a lucky bastard, Snyder.”

Now it’s Jack’s turn to glean the obvious. His brows furrow, and his eyes turn keen with speculation. “Have you seen Katie yet, Frasier?”

He shrugs, hoping the motion masks his uneasiness. “Thought I’d find Henry first. Get the lay of the land. No sense in pounding down her door, you know?”

“Right. Uh huh.” Jack chuckles in utter disbelief, before shouldering past him with a, “Welcome home, Simon.”

It’s surprisingly sincere for all its sarcasm.

And completely on point.

Simon’s home, and, God and Katie Peretti willing, he’ll never be leaving again.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never underestimate the importance of baked goods.

“You’re wearing a hole in my carpet.”

“It’s not your carpet.”

“Oh, so we’re quibbling, Hank?” Reid gives Henry a look that would shrivel a lesser man…a man who doesn’t live with a grand diva like Barbara Ryan. “Fine, it’s my future mother-in-law’s carpet,” he allows. “And judging by the Lakeview’s antiquated décor, it probably can’t take the wear-and-tear.”

“ _I_ can’t take the wear-and-tear!” Henry makes a face before flopping down in a wing chair, giving over to his nerves. He’s taken to hiding out in Reid’s suite as he plots what he calls “Operation Skatie.” Reid is alternately horrified — “Skatie? Really? And what are Luke and I? Ruke? Lure?” — and fascinated. Henry’s built up the mythology of Simon Frasier like he’s James Bond, Bobby Fischer and Batman rolled into one suave package. No one man can possibly embody such a legend.

“Are you jealous?” Luke, in his annoyingly persistent way, ferreted out the whole scheme and instantly embraced a role as Henry’s co-conspirator. “Don’t get me wrong, I like Chris, but this is a great story,” the budding writer had reasoned. Now, he’s positively beaming with mischief.

Reid has a passing fondness for Doogie as well, but he ultimately had to agree: It _is_ a classic tale. But “I’m not jealous,” he assures. “Why should I be? My reputation is impeccable. And completely deserved.” Luke, still glowing from the “future mother-in-law” comment, makes a noise of disbelief and Reid pats his leg, which is accommodatingly thrown across Reid’s knees. The Lakeview’s décor may be deplorable, but the sofas are remarkably welcoming to tangles of the Luke-and-Reid persuasion. “Tell me again why _my_ suite has to be the location for this historic homecoming?”

“Because Bubbles would never suspect!” Henry exclaims.

That’s patently ridiculous, and they all know it. Katie is just as likely to drop in on him, unannounced, as she is Henry. The truth is, Henry’s fearsome cougar would drop-kick him into the doghouse if she knew he was actively scheming against her cousin’s happiness.

Reid is no romantic, but after moving to this abominable burg, he’s learned just how emotion can get people turned around. It’s a terrible, wonderful, sensation. “So, Crocodile Dundee shows up for Katie, and then what? We deliver him to her bachelorette party in a giant cake?”

“Reid!” Luke laughs, hitting him with a file folder.

“That’s not actually a bad idea…mate.”

**

Getting into a Lakeview room is still child’s play. Particularly when all he has to do is imply to the naïve day maid that he’s sleeping with the man who lives in it. When Simon actually meets Reid Oliver, it becomes quickly apparent that he’d be better off sleeping with a piranha. The good doctor regards him with a suspicion so palpable it’s positively Peter Burke-ian. His eyes are glacial, his lips a slice of pale, thin contempt.

“Hi, Simon. Welcome home!” Luke Snyder, sitting nestled against Oliver, greets him with an apologetic smile. “Just ignore Reid. It’s what the rest of us do.”

It staggers him a little to realize that this is Lily’s son, all grown up. In rolled-up shirtsleeves and a loosened tie, and accessorizing with a hostile neurosurgeon, he’s definitely no longer that little boy who got taken away to Malta.

Henry, of course, hasn’t changed a bit. He leaps up, neuroses spewing forth at top speed. “Simon, thank God. We are facing a crisis of epic proportions. You got here just in time!”

“For what? Cake?” He can’t help himself…and, even as he shoots a wry glance in Dr. Oliver’s direction, he makes a mental note to warn Luke about the maids gossiping. A white lie to get in the door is one thing. There’s no sense in keeping it going. Every con has an expiration date, especially when love is involved. “I’ve always liked red velvet. But I think it would stain a decent suit.”

“Ha-ha.” Henry’s too overset to bother to laugh for real…and if that’s not an indicator of the magnitude of Katie marrying Chris Hughes, Simon doesn’t know what is. Something dark and ugly roils in the pit of his gut, but he shoves it down, moving into the room with a careless grace that would make Caffrey proud. “Katie’s _settling_ , Simon, and that is the last thing I want for her,” Henry waves towards the empty chair across from him. “That’s the last thing any of us should want for her. Or Jacob.”

He’d love to have a flip response for that. Something properly continental. But, deep down, Simon has always been a scrapper, someone who clawed his way up to the tuxedos and champagne. Someone who learned, the hard way, that the truth is the best weapon there is. “This is about what Katie wants, and I’m not so sure it’s me,” he sighs, dropping into the proffered seat. “Every single time I’ve come into her life, I’ve thrown a bomb into the middle of it. I’ve wrecked her. Why would she want that again? Why would she inflict that on her son?”

To his complete surprise, it’s the disapproving doctor that responds. Shifting Luke in his lap, he sits up a little straighter, his icy eyes actually thawing a bit. “You know, Katie took me in right after you left town — something I’ve been trying to do since I got here so, for that, I envy you most thoroughly — and she didn’t look destroyed to me. Just sad. Lonely. Vulnerable. And you may have left to avoid being a rebound, to give her time to grieve, but all she did was use that time to run headlong into a relationship with someone else. Nobility, Mr. Frasier, is overrated.”

Simon can’t help but gawk at him in wonder. Henry has a similar expression on his face. Only Luke looks less than shocked. No, he’s just totally besotted, gazing at Reid like he’s brilliant. “Just so we’re clear? Simon’s not Noah,” he says, with a quiet smile. “And Chris isn’t you.”

“Perish the thought.” Oliver shudders, but returns the lovesick stare. “I’m much smarter than Doogie, and I have high hopes for the infamous Simon Frasier being sharper than Noah…which is why you have to fight for her.” He swings his focus back across the room. “If Katie belongs with you, and I think you both believe that’s true, then you cannot let her get away. You’ll only have yourself to blame if she marries another man.”

It’s Mike all over again. Brad all over again. Men she turned to because he didn’t, _couldn’t_ , stick around to make his case. Men she made love to because he wasn’t there to share her bed. Men she wed because he didn’t honor his vows. The darkness swirling round inside him crystallizes into something hard and determined. He curls his hands into fists and squares his shoulders. “Okay. So what are we going to do?”

Henry’s nerves finally give way to a grin. “Well…we’re not going to let them eat cake!”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's to say what's real and what isn't?

The day before the ceremony, Katie can’t stay away from the cemetery. She tries, she really does. Chris leaves early, with an overnight bag, so he can crash at the Lakeview and at least give _some_ respect to traditions. Right afterward, she calls Margo and talks to her for a half hour, pretending it’s because she needs help getting the stove burners to work. Then, she e-mails Craig and reminds him for the umpteenth time that he’d better show up at the church on time, ready to walk her down the aisle. She puts everything in order, including her last-minute wedding jitters.

But, after she leaves Jacob with the sitter, her car seems to act on its own…guiding her away from WOAK and toward the graveyard. The sun is shining brightly, the snow has melted a little, clearing a patch of hard ground for her to kneel on, and something deep in her soul tells her that it’s time to really say “goodbye.”

Brad was a good man. Somewhere in the last year, in her head, he turned into a great one. A member of the Hall of Heroes that used to only house her father. Like death gave him a halo. She can imagine what he’d think of that. What he’d think of all of this.

“You didn’t want to let me go,” she laughs, tracing over his name with her fingertips. “I know you hated that Simon was there with me after you died, and you’d hate Chris, too. Because you and me…we didn’t even get a chance, did we? Not just with Jacob, but with everything. A fifth anniversary. A kidnapping. A fake death. All the crazy stuff that happens in Oakdale…we had none of it.”

So her marriage to Brad is perfect. Those memories completely untarnished. And she and Chris…they’re perfect, too. Fun and sweet, comfortable. She’s a balm to him after Emily, after Alison. He’s her rock after so many storms. She never comes to him with a harebrained scheme; their life together doesn’t involve nun costumes or balloons or lambs. Being with Chris isn’t hard. It doesn’t take work. It’s easy, and it’s real.

When he walks out the door, she’s never afraid he won’t come back. “You didn’t come back,” she hears herself rebuke Brad. “But it wasn’t your fault,” she assures, wiping the sudden tears from her eyes. “You didn’t leave me on purpose. Not like…”

“Not like I always do?”

His voice has always been like sand and velvet. Rough and soft at the same time. Scratching her and soothing her in turns. She knows it from the first word and, by the second, third and fourth, she’s shaking so hard she can barely turn around. Dirt grinds into the knees of her jeans, like all the memories she’s tried so hard to tamp down.

Simon in person is so much bigger than those memories. So much brighter. So alive. _Damn him_ for being alive. The minute the thought crosses her mind, Katie gasps. Because as much as she hates him for walking away, she’ll never, _ever_ accept that he can’t come back. Simon is bigger than life. Stronger than it. A fairy tale wrapped in a spy thriller, packaged in magic. Losing Brad broke her. Simon dying…would destroy her. “I didn’t mean it,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“Katie…” His eyebrows wing together in confusion. He hasn’t shaved, so he looks just as disreputable as he did when he’d wake up before her to feed and change Jacob for those few nights he was back in town. Disreputable and disheveled and so handsome that it hurts to look at him…but she can’t tear her gaze away. “Katie, are you alright?”

It’s a stupid question. “I’m…I’m never alright when you’re here, Simon. Why are you here?”

“Because when I’m here, you’re whole…and I’m whole, too.” Oh, God. That’s horrible. It’s unfair. Katie opens her mouth to tell him, but he drops to his knees in the dirt in front of her, grabs her hands in both of his. They swallow her up. They always swallowed her up. “And because I want to be here for you,” he continues, his eyes so dark and sincere that they rob her of the ability to talk. “Not just when you’re grieving, but when you’re healed. If you’re going to marry Chris Hughes tomorrow, I want to be in the church. Not to interrupt. Not to wreck your life. But just to celebrate that you’re happy. That’s all I want Katie: for you to be happy.”

Simon is a fairy tale wrapped in a spy thriller, packaged in magic. He can say things that no other man would get away with. She should slap him, but she can’t…and not just because he’s holding her hands. She came to the cemetery to say “goodbye.” Maybe this is how she’s supposed to shape the word.

“Would you like to come home and see Jacob?” is what she actually voices. It’s not a response to his speech — she’s not sure there _is_ one — but it’s all she can offer.

Simon doesn’t look disappointed. No, his eyes light up and he brushes his lips across her knuckles in a painstakingly gentle kiss. “I would love to.”

**

When he left, Jacob was just a tiny thing, all bald head and unfocused eyes. He barely weighed more than a loaf of bread and made Simon’s palms feel large and clumsy as they cradled him. Now, he’s actually a little person. A sturdy little man. He has the Snyder dark hair, but Katie’s eyes and her tendency to pout. He’s a gorgeous little monster, toddling around the Hughes living room at top speed and testing out words like “Mama!” and “Dada” and “Mine!”

Simon’s never been one for children, never had time for that softness or that responsibility…even when he and Katie were first planning their future together, he never really thought about it in more than the abstract. But with Katie’s son, with this part of her, someone _she_ made, his chest always goes tight. He’s always a little scared and a lot amazed. It’s not a guest’s polite murmur when he tells her, “He’s beautiful, Katie. I can’t believe how fast he’s grown.”

She’s beautiful, too. She’s done something to her hair…lightened it, cut it…and lost a little weight. Too much more and she’ll disappear, but he knows better than to tell her that. She’d go on a diet just to be contrary. There’s something a little harder about her than before. Like she’s put on a shell or built a wall. But she’s still so goddamn lovely that it blows his mind. She’ll be a stunning bride.

After she puts the baby down for a nap and joins him on the sofa, the motherly pride on her face fades back into the suspicion and sadness she wore at the cemetery. She tilts her head, and he desperately wants to brush her hair off her face but keeps his hand curled round his kneecap. “Why are you here?” she asks him again, like she’s expecting his answer to be different. “Why’d you come back?”

“Why’d you come back when I made you leave?” is what she really means. “I'm strapping a chain around your ankle,” she’d told him, when she practically shoved him out the door. When he’d let himself be shoved. “You're going to end up hating me.” As if such a thing was possible. This after he’d, naively, stupidly, told everyone else who loves her that he did so “without conditions.” As if that was possible. He bloody well does love her with conditions. With so many rules that it kills him to think of her wearing a wedding dress for someone else.

“Oakdale’s the only home I’ve ever known, Katie. You’re the only home I’ve ever known.” It’s brutal of him to say that, just like the things he said to her in front of Brad’s grave. But he didn’t come back to play it fair or to play it safe, did he? “Did you really think I wouldn’t return? I’m like those stupid swallows in San Juan Capistrano…I will always come home in the end.”

He scores a direct hit. She draws in a deep, shuddering breath. Her eyes shine with grief, and her lower lip trembles. But her wall is still intact. “Are you trying to stop me from marrying Chris?” she demands, knotting her hands in her lap. “Did Henry and Reid put you up to this? Is that what this really is?”

Oh, Katie. Always smarter than anyone gives her credit for. He has to laugh, rubbing his jaw with his knuckles and shaking his head. “Katie, you’re a force of nature. I can’t stop you doing anything.” That is the unvarnished truth. She made him fall in love with her, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He had wives before her who were just names, women after her who were just bodies. It’s only when he’s been with her that he’s had it all. “If you want to marry Chris tomorrow, you’ll do it. And I will watch.”

He turns on the cushions, so their knees are just barely touching, and leans in. These words are the hardest yet…ones that border on lies and bleed him with every syllable. “I will bear witness while you promise to love, honor and cherish him. I will memorize the way you look when he puts that ring on your finger. And I will never forget you kissing him when the minister pronounces you ‘man and wife.’ I will honor that, Katie, and I will honor you.”

“Stop!” It’s a strangled cry, that one tiny word, and music to his ears. “Simon, please, stop,” she begs him, momentarily pressing her fingertips to her mouth…as if it’s herself she wants to silence, not him. “I don’t need your approval or your blessing. I can’t…I can’t do this with you here. Don’t make me do this with you here.”

He knows the answer, or at least he thinks he does, but he asks anyway: “Why?”

She shakes her head, blinking away tears, dashing them away with the backs of her hands. Her voice is a combination of determination and devastation that he knows all too well. “Because you’re a fantasy, Simon; you don’t exist. And what Chris and I have is real. It’s solid. It doesn’t need you stamping ‘happily ever after’ on it, because you don’t belong in our world.”

That doesn’t even make any sense, but it’s clearly what she’s sold herself in order to make it down the aisle. “Baby, I’m as real as you are.” Now he _has_ to touch her, to stroke her cheek. He’s restrained himself enough. “I’m real, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, as he revels in the softness of her skin, the familiar curve of her face. “I always just want to kiss you,” he’d told her once, and that hasn’t changed. Katie’s mouth was made for his. Her body was made for his. “I’m not leaving you. Not this time.”

“Simon…” She makes a sound that’s part-gasp, part-whimper. It’s only a matter of seconds before she shatters. He pulls her, unresisting, into his lap and lets her do it in the shelter of his arms.

 

 


End file.
